


Rules for the Young Witch

by septimaaliceohhey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Edwardian era, Gen, I wrote this in the notes app because my friend was sick, If you think I know what genre this is, May eventually be Rowena/OC, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rules, because I don’t plan and don’t know where this is going, first person POV, im not just being weird, theres a reason this is in first person, youre wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21523057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septimaaliceohhey/pseuds/septimaaliceohhey
Summary: In 1901, Edel meets Rowena.In 1901, Rowena gets a protégée.Rowena dispenses her wisdom to Edel, a young German girl, in the form of witty quips, dramatic commentary, and occasionally in plain comments that wind up being more relevant than they seem.Mostly, Edel picks up on them.





	Rules for the Young Witch

1\. Better safe than sorry

That was what she said at our second meeting. The year was 1901, and life had not, so far, been good to me. I was promised a factory job, but when that job went to the factory owner’s—well, mistress isn’t quite the right word. She was slight and blonde and cute, but she was sweet and caring, and she loved him, too.

Unfortunately, he was married. I never knew or saw his first wife, but in my head, if I could get her out of the way, I would get a job, I would get a life, if I made the owner and his girl happy. I was lucky to even be considered for employment, when factories like the ones of the Industrial Revolution were fading away, and words like witch swirled around me, despite the fact that it was the twentieth century, and we didn’t believe in witches anymore.

I believed in witches. Well, I didn’t, but I started, when the extraneous wife turned up, burned from the inside out. I only heard about it in a newspaper, but it was certainly interesting how quickly it followed the night I’d had a strange fever, that instead of sapping my strength, fed me like a rich stew.

Witch. If they want a witch, I’ll give them one—so I went looking for grimoires and tarot cards and crystal balls and anyone who could show me real magic. I had just tasted it, from that fever that had fed me and taken the wife. I got the wife out of the way and let the lovebirds love, and still I was denied my promised job. So I left, scraped together what money I could and got to the next city over from my town, a bustling metropolis of snow and secrets.

I was in a back alley, having decided a place to sleep trumped the search for magic for now when I saw her first. She was slight, like a dancer, with expensive clothes and long red hair up in a fashionable Gibson girl style.

“Ma’am, I’m not sure this is somewhere you want to be.” Back alleys weren’t for rich women with hair an impossible shade of red, they were for people like me, angry and planning, or people not like me, who’d given up, who’d lost their anger.

“Wee girl, this is exactly where I want to be.” She said, with a unexpected Scottish accent. She smiled quickly at me, not in a sweet way or a condescending way, like the little rich girls usually did. She smiled like she knew something, and I knew she wasn’t just a rich girl, she was powerful. She stepped up to the stoop of one of the back doors, knocked sharply twice, and was let in. 

I camped out in that alley that night. It was relatively free from snow, but I struggled to fall asleep curled up on the hard ground.

The house the beautiful woman had gone into had one window facing out back, with a thin curtain, and as the dark curled around me in the alley corner, and I pulled my thin coat closet around me, a purple light crackled and flashed behind the curtain. I sat bolt upright.  
What’s going on in there? I thought, like a fool.  
I knew what it was—in my bones, I knew I’d found real magic.

Against my better judgement, I crept up to the door, snaked my hand around the knob, and turned. I wasn’t really expecting it to open, but it did, turning smoothly and quietly. It swung outward with a slight squeak revealing a fairly standard back staircase. I stepped inside—it was pleasantly warm on my cold hands.

I could faintly hear voices from the cramped hallway to my left, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I shut the door to the outside, gave my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, and, for lack of a better idea, walked towards the voices. 

The passage opened into a well-lit room, I stayed hidden just outside the reach of the light. I could barely see inside the room, so I relied on my hearing.

“Rowena, we cast your spell, now get out of my house.” Said a female voice I didn’t recognize.

“Your house? Just because the lady of the house is on vacation doesn’t make it yours.”  
That was the redhead I’d seen outside—I recognized her accent. She must be Rowena.

“Don’t give me any snark, Rowena. I’m doing more for you by helping you with this spell than any witch for miles would. There’s a reason you don’t have a coven.”

_Witch? Coven? _I gasped involuntarily and clapped a hand over my mouth, hoping neither of the witches had heard me.__

__They had, of course._ _

__“Come out, whoever you are!” The witch who wasn’t Rowena said._ _

__I felt a force acting upon my body, compelling me to move into the room. I had never been afraid of power before, but this made my blood run cold._ _

__When I was finally out in the open of the room, I took a look around. The witch who had called to me was perhaps thirty-five and dressed plainly but neatly, like a servant, in contrast to Rowena’s beautiful, expensive clothes. The only furniture was a wooden table with a large metal bowl on top of it. There was a single candle on the table, but the room was lit as though full of electric lights. Well, they’re witches. Logic doesn’t have any place with witches._ _

__The spell controlling my body suddenly released, and I crumpled to the floor._ _

__“Margaret, you didn’t have to do that to the girl.” The other witch was apparently Margaret._ _

__“Better safe than sorry, Rowena. What should we do with her?”_ _

__“Interrogating isn’t worth it. She probably doesn’t know a thing about what we do, and I’ve been looking for some help.”_ _

__“Then take her and get out. I helped you with your spell and the bargain is complete.” Margaret clearly meant business._ _

__“And you won’t speak of what we did tonight?”_ _

__“I’m not stupid, Rowena.”_ _

__Rowena moved as if she was going to take me and leave, but at the last second flicked her hand and yelled something in a language I didn’t know._ _

__Margaret froze. Her eyes were wide and afraid, but Rowena’s face betrayed no emotion. Something happened to her mouth, changing and shifting and becoming _wrong _somehow. Then it settled back and everything was as it was.___ _

____Margaret opened her mouth to speak, to yell, but no words came out._ _ _ _

____“Better safe than sorry.” Rowena said, in that beautiful accent._ _ _ _


End file.
